


You...Always Surprise Me

by Doberler



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doberler/pseuds/Doberler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur suddenly notices that there is more to Morgana's maidservant than he ever dared to dream. This is how Arthur and Gwen's timeless romance really started. These are the missing scenes from episodes 1.10 to 2.1 that lead up to their first kiss in 2.2. Some text is taken directly from the series, but the rest is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tunic and Trousers

**Author's Note:**

> For Kimmiky, my muse, my inspiration for this story.
> 
> I don't own Merlin. If I did, it would still be on the air and Arthur would find out about Merlin's magic early in the series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes notice when Gwen says a word or two.

Prince Arthur was sure when it happened. He was even sure how it happened. One moment she was part of the background, Morgana's maidservant, someone, he'd held no strong opinion on, unnoticeable, invisible. Of course, he'd thought her beautiful, demure and unassertive (at least in the public arena), yet a loyal companion to Morgana for nearly seven years. That was the extent of her existence to him. An entirely proper servant.

The next moment she was giving him a verbal lashing on the scarcity of the food shared by the poor people in Ealdor, especially now when they were struggling to keep what little they had from pillagers terrorizing their village. He was being downright arrogant, so used to sumptuous food and rich delicacies, that his repulsive reaction to anything less was a natural response. And Guinevere's innate reaction was to make no qualms confronting him about his deplorable behavior.

The entitled noble had complained about having to eat a bowl of gruel (or was it porridge?), Arthur wasn't entirely sure which it was actually. But that was all they'd eaten since they'd arrived at the village, and he just couldn't stomach any more. He would certainly hunt after the conflict ended, even if all he could find were rabbits. The warrior in him needed proper sustenance and sickly sweet gruel day in and day out wasn't going to do. It was no wonder Merlin was so skinny if this was what he ate on a regular basis.

"Food is scarce for these people," Gwen severely admonished the prince. "You shouldn't turn your nose up at it!"

No one reprimanded the crowned prince like that, especially a servant. Well, no one other than Merlin. And Morgana, except she didn't count since she was a noble, and had always talked at him as a rival sibling. Prince Arthur's blond brows drew together slightly, his lips puckered into its natural pout, weirdly stunned and slightly embarrassed expressed in his sapphire eyes.

Guinevere's long dark curls were pinned up, a few strands falling into her light olive face and accentuated the curves of her face. She stood there, now pensive, regretting her outburst, forgetting her station, and waited for him to harangue her into submission. She was the daughter of a blacksmith, a servant, and Merlin's best friend. When she chewed her lip, lowered dark her eyes, and started babbling her contrition, he smiled at her fidgeting, and thought she was adorable, really. She turned to leave, but Arthur called after her.

"Gwen." The maiden kept trying to apologize and retreat.

" _Guinevere_ ," Arthur said, his voice husky, but sincere. The way he emphasized her name stopped her in her tracks. It held so much power and passion in it that it stunned her in a disturbing way. It moved something inside of her. Gwen turned toward him, her whole demeanor pensive. "Thank you. You're right." He conceded one more thing. "And you were right to speak up. I should have listened to you and Morgana." He found it easy to be truthful with her about their odds of their success and the possibility of the loss of life in the coming conflict and added soberly. "We're going to need all the help we could get."

Gwen rushed forward, but stopped a respectable distance from the heir apparent. "We'll be fine." He could tell that she truly believed that by the look in her eyes and the assurance in her voice.

"How can you be so sure?" He wanted to share her belief. What Merlin had said yesterday rang true as any of his training instructors would attest. He had to show confidence in the prospect of victory and the men, farmers as they all were had little to no weapon or fighting skills. Even his crash course in basic fighting techniques was not enough to give them a chance with a ratio of 3:1 against an experienced, barbaric gang of forty men raging death and destruction on their village all just to steal their meager harvest.

"Because I have faith in you," she said easily and with conviction, closing the distance with a few more steps. Arthur pinned her with hood eyes, baffled that what she said actually mattered to him. Did she just express hidden affection far too familiar for a servant to her master?  But then just as quickly as she'd said it had she began stammering out a correction. "I mean, we _all_ do." Gwen blushed severely, quite embarrassed of the slip.

He looked at her with a guarded expression, and then he thanked her again. They both smiled awkwardly, or maybe they grimaced to cover forbidden thoughts. Arthur wasn't sure. Staring at each other longer than they should have, Gwen nodded her head in subservience and turned to leave, a hand going to her mouth as she did so.

Arthur watched her go, his eyes trailing her until she was out of sight, and then focused on all she had said. And that set off another chain of emotions that was new to Arthur. He smiled, and looked at the bowl of gruel. No, porridge. Gruel was thinner than porridge. What does it matter? But he truly admired her honesty. He liked her kind of spirit. And quite frankly, she had caught him off guard, had discomposed him completely with that slip of her tongue, and he knew that it had shown on his face.

And she had stood up to him, in her brown tunic and trousers tucked in soft boots, a far cry from the simple commoner gowns she wore, but still very appealing, almost arousing. She had had enough daring to put him in check and silence his arrogance when anyone else would have agreed with him and offered up their own invectives as well, sniveling with acquiescence. A boot-licker, as Merlin would call them, noble or not. She was the daughter of a blacksmith, small in stature, yet so very large in the qualities of being morally good, and pure in heart. As strong, steady, and sure as her father's own forge and just as fiery. Distracted, Arthur took a spoonful of the sweet, sticky porridge.

Gwen had shown valor and integrity and in that moment, he suddenly didn't see Gwen, the servant. He saw Guinevere, a strong and valiant beautiful woman for the first time after all these years. He remembered the compassion she always displayed for others, knew of her fierce loyalty to Camelot's lesser citizens, and envied her conviction for justice to all.  He saw her beauty. Yesterday, twice, she had said that the women should be allowed to fight right along with the men, so he already knew that she possessed courage of knights. She caught him off guard indeed.

He'd had privilege and luxury all his life. It was all that he knew. He took for granted his birthright and enjoyed all the liberties entailed therein. It shouldn't be expected of him to do anything beneath him, to expect anything less. He was a Pendragon after all. He would be king someday who would have kingly things to do. But wait. Did not being king mean to recognize the value of men, and even the simplest of things? Though Camelot flourished, it was still in contradiction to the state of her people. The most of them were poor, this village's hardships a normality. How were they not as important? Guinevere recognized the hypocrisy. Those substantial traits that she possessed was surely lacking in him.

Ealdor was not part of his kingdom, but it was where Merlin's mother lived, and they were under duress by the brutal assaults of bandits. The boy's home village, full of life and love and poverty, and his beloved home nonetheless needed help; help that Arthur's father had callously denied in the name of politics. He was here in fact to prove that they deserved to live in peace. He was here to help them fight for the right to grow their crops and raise their families without fear. He was here because of Merlin. A servant. No. A friend, though he wouldn't admit that to Merlin or anyone else. But she had left the security and comforts of Camelot to fight for her friend and risk her life, too. He respected and admired that in her.

And now she made him feel ashamed for turning his royal nose up at the humble meal Hunith served him. Gwen had more grace and common sense than he gave her credit for, and cared far more than any noble ever would, including himself once upon a time. Their contrast was so appealing and that thought attracted him to her even more so.

She liked him, too; at least on some level he could feel that. She was a breath of fresh air, and he allowed her words to wrap around him like a warm blanket. He desired to learn more about her and remain blissfully ignorant of where this path could lead.

And so he would show his humility; that he could indeed listen and learn by eating the entire bowl of porridge and appreciate the meal when it was served again. He looked at the bowl in his hand right then, and found it empty. He smiled. Porridge, he decided. Definitely porridge.

She continued to take his breath away, astonishing to him, refreshing even, and had become more than just a servant to him, especially, later on, when they clasped their wrists as comrades-in-arms and he'd asked her if she was frightened. Her head held high, her eyes full of resolve, she'd replied, "Not in the least," and promptly left the ranks to command her post as fearless as any other trained warrior. She wasn't afraid of the fight to come, afraid perhaps for the people they had come to protect, but not of the fight itself, and that, too, endeared her to him. In a jarring moment of truth, Arthur would not deny that this was when things changed for him and a servant in tunic and trousers.


	2. A Pure Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur doesn't want to be consoled, leaving Gwen to think he's still an arrogant ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kimmiky, my muse, my inspiration for this story. Updated 11/04/2016
> 
> I don't own Merlin. If I did, there would have been a lot more angst between Arthur and Gwen as their romance blossomed.

Gwen had not only noticed a difference in the prince, she'd felt it. It had been a month since their return from Ealdor, and she'd seen another surprising change in the prince of Camelot.

The first had been months ago, right after Merlin arrived and had become his manservant. His relationship with the boy was beyond the master/servant role, and Gwen was pleased to see that. It had been a marvel to witness, a familiar bond growing between them not unlike her relationship with Morgana, only theirs involved a lot less painful, physical contact than the boys by all means. Regardless of how horribly Arthur treated Merlin, there were times when Gwen glimpsed his remorse over his unrelenting demands even if he would probably never admitted it aloud. Yet, as the weeks and months had passed, she saw less arrogance and more tolerance at least, and this new refreshing side of the prince all to Merlin's credit. He was a positive influence on Arthur, obviously making the noble so very much aware of his own shortcomings.

And now, her position as Morgana's handmaiden brought her in the presence of the future king on a near daily and constant basis and sometimes his gaze would land on her and linger when he thought no one was watching. She could feel his eyes on her even if she did not see them, as if a tether from his direction had reached out and grabbed hold of her. He'd also started making it a point to speak to her directly about Morgana's recent episodes of fatigue manifesting irritable fits meant for Arthur or the king, the prince coming directly to her for surety that Morgana received her finest care and attention. His concern was genuine for his father's ward, of course, but then afterwards, awkward silence electrified the air between them before he hesitantly dismissed her or carried on himself.

Gwen was still reeling about how she'd spoken to Arthur in Ealdor, in fact, standing up to him a time or three in defiance of a few flawed decisions. Just because she had the freedom to say what she liked to Morgana in private did not mean that she had such liberties with other nobility, let alone the royalty. Arthur had every right to harangue her for the unexpected rebukes, put her back in her place. But he had not. In the end, he'd listened to her, had eaten all of his meals thenceforth, and seemed to have been proud to fight beside her. It was as if he had appreciated the candor of a lesser and that his now changed approach was not one of spite. It was respect anew, and frighteningly something else.

Arthur started smiling at her more when they did catch glances of each other, too. Well, it was something akin to a smile, little as his lips moved, though his sapphire blue eyes sparked with a sweet fondness in them, perhaps longing for things neither of them could put a name to. Gradually, after checking on Morgana, he filled the silence with concern for Gwen herself, asking how her day was faring, the gentle snares drawing them closer even when they sprinted apart, both trying to understand the strange predilection and the racing of their hearts.

It was so odd to see another side of him. The prince had been a bully all his life, taking advantage of his birthright and using his powers to disparage those who weren't his equal or a noble. Arthur was tall and broad, built of solid muscle from years of rigorous training and hard-fought battles, and strutted around the world with arrogance and authority that was a dare to anyone who said he was otherwise. And even his handsome features, classic Roman down to his strong chiseled jaw could not atone for his conceited nature. Not to her at least. Noble women, courtiers, and even servants threw themselves at him constantly. In short, his good looks and confident airs made them swoon. She believed he loved the attention, too, thriving on it as those with power often did.

And she had seen that legendary temper of his and pitied the victims he'd brought down, having witnessed some of the one-sided encounters herself and thinking the prince a boar. So fierce was his countenance that he had the toughest of nobles and servants cowering with just a glare. Even poor Merlin had found himself on the receiving end of the prince's wrath for the smallest of infractions, shackled in the stocks or thrown into the dungeons for hours on end.

His list of faults was as long as his virtues and Gwen was amazed at the contrast. Arthur was a great and renowned warrior and as first knight and commander, his duty was to ensure the army was battle ready at all times. He pushed himself to the limits and beyond, always seeking perfection and uncompromising to those who complained of the rigorous training routine. She'd even once overheard him say that he had been trained from birth to kill. She almost believed that, his natural prowess with every weapon put in his hands was without equal, a deadly combination of skill, strategy, and brutal force. Arthur was bred to be king, tall and mighty, though in Gwen's eyes, he still fell short of a few important things that would make him a great ruler: faith in himself and respect for his people. It had taken this long to figure him out, though honestly, she'd never spent this much deep thought on him. These last few weeks she had come to realize that his arrogance was a shield, a cover for his own self-doubt, his own self-worth. It was no wonder he surrounded himself with sycophants to bolster his low self-esteem.

And so it was when a mysterious water shortage suddenly struck Camelot and the devastating famine that soon followed that she'd seen his countenance sink lower after it had just as mysteriously passed, burdened that he had been the cause of it all, blaming himself for the suffering of his people. Arthur had withdrawn to the grassy battlements overlooking the rooftops of the Upper Town, a frequent setting for him of late, solemnly watching over his kingdom in solitude and despair. Forty-three citizens in Camelot and some of its surrounding towns, mostly children and the elderly had perished in a scant five days. The reports from the outer villages were still coming in and Gwen feared there'd be more casualties to count. Merlin's infectious reassurances and consolations did not do its magic to cheer Arthur this time, the prince beyond consoling and deep in his own despair. All signs were clear that he was unapproachable, but Gwen dared to intervene. The maiden crossed the grassy field, her eyes taking in the brooding posture of the man standing near the battlement, legs spread, arms folded across his chest. The red studded waistcoat accentuated broad shoulders, pale skin, and silky blond hair. She couldn't see his eyes, but Gwen knew his sapphire orbs punctuated the complement of man and wardrobe. He **_was_** quite please to look upon.

It touched her that he cared so fiercely for his people, that he'd risk his life for them far too many times, not realizing how precious he was to his people and that his loss would be more damaging to the kingdom than the apparent threats he sought to overcome. Gwen's lip suddenly became interesting as she chewed them nervously. Her fond thoughts of the untouchable were frightening and too often coming, but sometimes he could be so amazing, while at others downright boorish. Whomever would she get this time?

Arthur must have heard the swish of her skirts in the late morning breeze as she approached, the prince barely paying her a glance as a pair of guards crossed behind them. Gwen halted and dipped into a curtsey after she came to stand just a few steps to his right and behind him, the proper place for a servant.

"How is Morgana?" he asked, obviously cognizant of their frequent crossings so others might be also, idle gossip being rampant in the court and castle and there was no use casting more fuel on the flames of rumor. His gaze wandered across the rooftops of the Upper Town, at the citizens he'd unwittingly harmed below, few, if any, the wiser of the blow he'd struck against them.

"Gaius has given her another potion, sire." Morgana's nights had been filled with terror for years, steadily worsening they older they got, and now they followed her into the day. Gwen was troubled for her mistress and stayed by the noble's side as much as she could, spending more nights in the adjacent servant's chamber than her own cozy home. "She's resting now."

Arthur looked at her then, a longer gaze this time. "Good." That familiar silence stretched between them again, but this time he didn't ask how she was doing, a break from the routine he'd started and something she'd looked forward to. "Is there anything else?"

"Merlin told me about the unicorn," she said, squashing the mild tinge of hurt and braving to come stand beside him, the wind brushing loose curls across her face and the sun revealing her freckled nose and shining lips. Arthur showed only his displeasure by the deepening of his brow and curl of his lips and Gwen rushed into damage control. "Please don't be angry with him. It wasn't difficult to figure out that Gaius' warning about the consequences for killing a unicorn was true for those who dared to believe it. Merlin had no choice but to tell me … Arthur, it was very noble what you did at the labyrinth, to lift the curse and restore the land."

"Nobility had nothing to do with it," he said curtly, his lips forming into a pout and casting berating eyes back toward the town. "I was a fool."

"It was a test, Arthur," she assured him, absorbing his biting retort unscathed. She'd been expecting some sort of backlash, but he had aimed it at himself. "And you passed it."

"If I hadn't killed that unicorn out of pride, it wouldn't have happened at all. I left its carcass to rot in the forest and mounted its horn as a trophy, Guinevere. I caused the curse out of ignorance and many of my people suffered because of it." His jaw clenched. "It was my duty to drink the poison."

She turned to face him full on and placed a hand on his arm. "Thank heaven it was only a sleeping draught. You could have died, Arthur. What would Camelot be without you?"

Arthur drew in a deep breath, a dark and sullen look in his eyes. "Maybe a lot better off," he muttered, apparently not receptive to any of her affirmations. He was being bullish, trying everything in his power to undo himself, to throw himself over the edge without realizing how great and terrifying a sacrifice he had made.

"I don't believe that one bit," she said, gently squeezing his arm, "and neither does your people. You are loved, Arthur, by so many of us."

 _Oh, no_. Gwen's eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and she gnawed her lip again. They had been drawn into each other's orbit since her defiance in Ealdor but now she'd taken it as familiar with words of fondness and touching him with tender gestures. Gwen hesitantly withdrew and took a step back, lowering her head afraid to read his expression. Arthur had been unpredictable of late, distant, and the mood he wanted to remain in could quickly result in rebuke.

"Forgive me, sire. I sometimes forget my place." She twisted the edge of her faded red apron with long slender fingers, fidgeting where she stood and ready to take flight like a startled doe as soon as it was appropriate. She didn't see the smile suppressed nor the flash of warmth in his eyes, only that damnable schooled aloofness when she returned her gaze to him. The man wasn't ready for comfort, she perceived; probably believed he didn't deserved it, his whole demeanor stiffening and seeming on alert now.

"Indeed. You're a loyal servant, Guinevere. A trusted subject of the court and to Morgana. **_I_** have not forgotten that. I trust you will not either."

 _Oh, the boar_ , she thought, the coolness of his voice matching the chill now in his eyes. How foolish she was to have misread him so horribly. Even if the hints were subtle, she'd felt something pass between them these past weeks. He'd made her skin tingle, her breathing shallow, her heart pound at a furious pace, and there had been times she'd thought he'd caused her to have a fever. But it must have been because she was looking too hard for something that was not there, something he would not dare share with her, something that could never be. Gwen straightened her back and lifted her chin, now remembering very well who she was and to whom she was addressing.

"My lord." The handmaiden curtsied again, her integrity less intact, the sting of tears prickling her lids, but she refused to reveal her weakness and foolishness to the man. Gwen had long ago learned to show her displeasure masked as stiff courtesy, so that part was easy. She turned to leave, angry with herself, but mostly at him, and then stopped to cast the words she could not contain over her shoulder.

"The kingdom needs its prince, not a man who refuses to accept the decisions he's made, whether they were wise or not. If you don't trust in yourself, then how are we to trust in you? You're not alone, my lord. I hope you realize that." She chanced one final glance at him, his hardened countenance dissolving into regret before her eyes, and then retreated into the castle to lick her own wounds. This was not one of her stellar moments.

…………………..

Arthur was very good at pretending, schooled to hide his feelings at a very young age. Did what his years of training and upbringing demanded he do instead of what his heart was telling him. A king could not show indecision or weakness or fear, else he'd lose the respect of his equals and subjects. But sometimes he did it at the most inappropriate times.

Why had he treated Gwen as if she hadn't matter? Like her words had no impact on him? That her presence was calming energy that enveloped him in a peace he'd never known, even if he'd shaken off her effects in the moment. When she'd squeezed his arm, his whole body sprang to life as some of the tension ebbed, but he could not let her see that. She had been adorable, standing there twisting her apron like she was standing on needles and chewing her lip like there was no tomorrow. As if he could hurt her for that. She had reached out to him in a tender effort to console him, but he'd turned a cold shoulder on her, rejecting the helping hand she had extended. Inwardly he winced at the sharpness of this tone even as the words had come out, but Arthur really did not feel like analyzing his part in the whole affair right now. He wanted to remain in his self-imposed reproof and covering his feelings with reproach was easier than giving in to them.

And frankly, it irked him that Merlin had said anything at all. Not to her. Just like now, she managed to strip away his hard outer layer, exposing his nakedness, his faults. He didn't want another of his blunders broadcast for all to see and didn't want to be judged every time he made a mistake. Arthur groaned, knowing that was not what Gwen had intended nor done. She was the sweetest part of his days, caring, strong, and beautiful, just some of the lovely traits that were hard for him to ignore of late. He was truly lost, afraid of the lingering thoughts about her and the growing ones inside him.

Knowing all that separated them, all that put them at odds with society, the social barriers forbade him to look at a commoner the way he had stood in his way. Ignoble intentions with servants were as common as the rats in the storehouses, a blind eye turned upon some of the nobles' secret indulgences. But to treat commoners with honor and respect, to court them openly if one truly cared about them, was entirely different and Arthur was not allowed to do that with the first woman he had found … intoxicating. He knew it was best forget about her smile and smooth golden skin, the dash of freckles on her nose and bright sparkling eyes that spied upon his very soul. Damn it, he was doing it again, drinking in her alluring sensuality, and it had to stop.

To say his mood was not a factor in his next decision would be untrue, but Arthur forced a distance from her in the coming weeks and avoided her at every turn in an attempt to forget about Morgana's maid. To his aching surprise and longing heart, it was one of the worst decisions in his life.


	3. All You Have to Do is Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur does something special for Gwen when her father is killed. Updated 11/20/16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Merlin. If I did, I'd start the series over with older versions of the same actors.

He'd angered her, probably embarrassed her. Why had he pushed Guinevere away when he actually desired her presence? He'd dismissed her like she was a nobody, as if he did not want or care for her tender mercies and kindness. Gwen tried to be there for him, to let him know that he didn't have to go through his suffering alone, had made the first attempt to show that she cared about him. Her only reward a severe reprimand by her liege lord.

So began their struggle to avoid each other, Arthur at greater lengths due to his liberties, leaving Merlin confused at his abrupt change in patterns and Arthur's red face that usually ensued. Yet sometimes their duties forced their paths to cross and the prince found it hard to keep his mind and eyes from wandering to the shy maiden, only to be effectively ignored by her. Once she had caught him staring, but rolled her eyes and looked away. That wasn't supposed to affect him, but it had. When they passed in the corridors, ever the proper servant, she'd address him by his title or honorific and continue on her way, a whiff of lavender left in her wake and filling his nostrils with a deeper longing, only strengthening his desire for the untouchable.

She probably despised him even more now.

Arthur had arrested the best blacksmith in the kingdom for consorting with a known sorcerer sworn to kill the king. The blacksmith was Gwen's father, Tom, caught red-handed with an unusually large nugget of gold and presumed his payment for forging weapons for Tauren. Arthur tried reasoning with his father, agreeing with Morgana that Tom was an honest and hard worker and respected by all who knew him, but the prince's influence could not sway the king to lessen the man's sentence.

It did not get any better when Tom tried to escape, an understandable though foolish maneuver given he probably stood no chance of a fair trial, and was killed on sight by the order of the king. Gwen's wails could be heard throughout the square, wafting up to the windows, piercing the hearts of all who heard it, and devastating the young prince stood in the archway that led to the dungeons. Her younger brother had disappeared a few years before, so she had no family to share in her grief, none to turn to in her hour of greatest need.

Arthur was mortified about the tragedy even more so when Merlin told him later that Tom had not known Tauren was a sorcerer and the renegade had only wanted to use his forge for an experiment in alchemy. From the evidence in the forge, when Arthur had gone back for a thorough investigation, he knew then Tom was innocent, having found no sign of stockpiles of supplies or weapons to indicate such a task had been or was about to be undertaken. Still, he'd been caught consorting with an outlaw, and that was treasonous enough for Uther. And Arthur? He was just as responsible as the king was for what happened to Tom, but he would have considered sentencing him to the stocks, or lashings, or exile, anything but death. There were always options that his father refused to take. They had been so wrong this time, he and Uther, insomuch that Arthur was determined to make amends, to restore what little honor he could to Thomas.

Traitors they were, sorcerers and their accomplices, and the blacksmith was now labeled as one. Criminals were not allowed to be buried with ceremony nor their graves to be marked. Their very existence was meant to be erased and forgotten. But Arthur, with authority, persuasion, and a few gold coins, paid the guards to look the other way and took Tom's body out of the city. The prince buried the blacksmith under a tree, marking it with a great pile of stones where Gwen could mourn and remember him whenever she chose. And there was one other thing that he could do for her. It would be a pitiful recompense for the loss of a parent but something still to ease Gwen's troubles.

Arthur rapped on Merlin's chamber door (well, it was more like a storage room) and entered before it was granted to him. Gwen and Merlin had become good friends, Arthur noticing the two spending a lot of time together and building fond memories no doubt. He was glad she had found someone with whom she could take comfort. One day, he hoped she'd turn to him on occasion.

Gwen, seated on Merlin's tiny bed, rose abruptly when the prince came in, and pressed down her simple golden yellow gown. Merlin was stood silently a small distance from them both.

"Sire," she said softly, slightly shocked, and seeming drained of any other emotion. Her light brown eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, her lips full and puffy. Though he felt he'd never properly mourned the death of his mother, he knew it would be a while before her tears dried up, and he ached for her and her loss.

"Guinevere, I want you to know that your job is safe." Arthur winced inside and the knots in his stomach sprung up to his shoulders. Why didn't he extend his condolences first? "And that your home is yours for life. I guarantee you that." And now he flouted his arrogance and power. What an arse! "I…know that…under the circumstances it's not much. But, um, anything you want, anything you need, all you have to do is ask." That was a little better, and the tension in his shoulders suddenly eased.

"Thank you, sire," was all she had in her it seemed, perhaps too tired to muster any other response, though he noticed that she had not called him by name, still holding to the proper protocols he'd set weeks ago.

"Your father, he didn't deserve to die, Guinevere. My father was wrong and for that I…I took Tom to Trajan's Knoll and buried him under a great royal oak. You'll be able to visit him anytime you want. I can take you there tomorrow if you desire."

Tear-filled eyes that had never left his overflowed and flooded her cheeks just as her knees buckled and Gwen near collapsed. Arthur's warrior reflexes grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. She cried in his shoulder, shuddering in his embrace, her sobs of grief breaking his heart.

Merlin finally left the room, probably wondering what the hell he was doing, and quietly closed the door with a soft click behind him. He'd seen that look of surprise come across the servant's face and ignored him best he could. Arthur wasn't sure what he was doing either when it came to Guinevere, but somehow this felt right.

Holding her in his arms did not ease the guilt of what he'd done to her that day on the battlements, though this was the closest he'd ever felt to her. Not just physically. Why couldn't he just tell her? Let her know that he was sorry for how he'd treated and how he felt about her. In his mind, he knew their stations would not allow them to be together, at least not in the way he wanted. In his heart, he really didn't care what other people would think. But his father would be furious and probably banish her if he ever found out about the growing feelings he had for this girl.

These past weeks, he'd missed the sound of her voice, her laughter, heartbroken when he heard it echoing through the great halls of the castle once, and not missing the strange tinge of jealousy that reminded him that it wasn't he who made her happy like so. He'd insanely thought of running away and marrying her, live somewhere where no one would know him. With such thoughts of leaving Camelot, his beloved kingdom for a simpler life with her, Arthur knew he was in trouble. Knew it had come to a point of her happiness coming before Camelot. She was like an addictive herb and he should stay away from her but craving her nonetheless.

He didn't know how long they stood there holding each other, but when her tears finally subsided, she backed out of his embrace, though he showed a subtle reluctance to release her. Gwen straightened her gown again, and looked at him sadly, clear that she was spent and had nothing to say to him. Arthur turned to leave, feeling as lost and lonely as she appeared, but stopped and faced her squarely again.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, and left her alone to mourn.

He hoped he'd afforded her a little comfort, yet he still was not sure how she felt about him. That was until he was near death and dying from the fatal bite of the Questing Beast.

He hoped he'd afforded her a little comfort, yet he still wasn't sure how she felt about him. That is, until he was near death, and dying from the fatal bite of the Questing Beast.


	4. Confessions of a Dying Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tells Gwen a secret, but he doesn't know he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kimmiky, my muse, my inspiration for this story.
> 
> I don't own Merlin. If I did, Arthur would have found out about the bracelet. Updated 01/25/2017

You…Always Surprise Me

Chapter 4 Confessions of a Dying Prince

 

Arthur was on a fateful hunt.

It was said that the appearance of the Questing Beast, a massive, destructive creature of the Old Religion with the head of a cobra and body of a leopard, foreshadowed a time of great upheaval. It was an omen, last seen when Ygraine, Arthur's mother, died bringing him screaming into the world. And indeed, that was when the Great Purge had begun. Uther's reign of terror against anyone practicing magic tore the kingdom apart. Friend turned against friend, neighbor against neighbor, families ripped apart as fear, accusation, and executions became commonplace, bloodying the Pendragon name for twenty-one years and ingrained a fear of magic so entrenched in their psyche and lives that anything even remotely hinting at magic was looked upon with a critical eye.

The beast had returned and the greatest upheaval it could ever wreak upon the kingdom this time was the death of another Pendragon.

In the beast's layer of bones, death, and decay, it struck Arthur with such force that knocked him unconscious. It drew upon the insensible prince and buried the tips of its fangs to strip away the obstructing metal, yet penetrating enough for venom to seep into the flesh of his left shoulder. Merlin shouted fiercely from the distance to turn its deadly intent of ripping Arthur to shreds onto himself. The fearsome creature hissed and reared its hind legs, charging toward the intrusive young warlock who'd interrupted its meal. Merlin outstretched a hand toward Arthur's fallen sword and enchanted it into motion, raising it into the air. Casting the same spell he'd used against the griffin, an ethereal blue flame engulfed the sword's blade and with a twitch of his hand, thrust it deep into the jugular of the great beast, killing it with one, quick blow. It was too late for Arthur, however. One bite was deadly and there was no cure for the poison.

…………………..

Arthur was laid in his four-post, canopied bed, sweat-drenched, comatose, and dying. His left shoulder was bandaged, soaked through with his noble blood once more. They would need a miracle to save him, for the beast carried the power of life and death, a source that sprang from the heart of the Old Religion. As it was conjured by such a power, only a remedy from that same forbidden religion could save his life. If Merlin and the court physician, could not find such a solution, and quickly, then the only heir to the throne of the great kingdom of Camelot had, at best, only a few days left in this world.

The townspeople began to gather in the courtyard to hold vigil, word spreading fast that the prince was as good as dead. They'd given up hope, their candles shining in what should have been a beacon of hope, but only showcased their despair. They prepared themselves for the inevitable. Arthur's passing was only a matter of time.

Gwen entered the prince's chamber, the familiar scent of sweat and blood burning her nostrils and near brought tears to her eyes as she glanced toward the source and then to the aging physician in the chair set at a respectable distance from the dying heir apparent. She gently woke Gaius and ordered him to bed, relieving him with a promise that she would nurse Arthur through the night, that he would not be left alone. Gaius did so without further protest and hobbled his old bones out of the room.

The young maiden moved closer to her patient, removing the cloth from his forehead and freshening it in cool water. Sitting on the bed, Gwen dabbed his forehead, neck, and chest lightly dusted with a fine layer of blond hair. He was so weak, so vulnerable, far from the resilient, charismatic man that he was. She hurt for him, her heart aching with the probability that he would slip away, his presence never to be beheld again, and he never knowing how she felt about him. And it would surely send Uther further into the depths of his madness against all that was magical and also devastate the citizens at the loss of their prince. Camelot could fall to ruin, or worse yet, be conquered, split apart and divided as spoils. She would probably waste away in her own sorrow, too, a part of her following him into a place of no return, her never to be completely whole again.

"You're not going to die, Arthur," she stated with firm certainty, working efficiently with the knowledge she'd gained from nursing her father and brother during their times of illness and helping Gaius in temporary hospitals after an attack on the kingdom whether magical or caused by man. She knew what she was doing.

"I'm telling you," she commanded him, knowing that even in his frailty this could be the last time she might be able to do so. But no. She had faith in him and his robust for victory. He would have to fight harder to overcome this battle, for this was a war of resolve and Arthur had one of the strongest wills of all.

"Because I know one day that you will be king, a greater king than your father can ever be…" She'd did it again: judged her sovereign, despising him even for his cruelty, rigidity, and heartlessness. He'd killed her father and made her realize just how much she needed her estranged brother. She could use his counsel these days though he would probably tell her some things she did not wish to hear and likewise she to him. Gwen thinned her lips and concentrated on the present. This was not about her. Arthur needed her full attention.

"That's what keeps me going…" The future was all she could draw upon in her loneliness, a glimmer of something forbidden. She had felt Arthur's pull upon her in Ealdor, attracted to him even because she had stood up to him and he had let her. He was kind to her. Respected her. She'd changed her opinion of him, was thirsty for more of him, perhaps more than she should have since their return

Then the gentleness of his embrace when he'd comforted her that day in Merlin's chambers and his gesture to ease her pain and sorrow had spoken volumes. The loss of her hero had changed everything in so many ways, Tom's brutal, unfair, and untimely death the catalyst that thrust them closer together, right into each other's arms for the first time. While her mind was scattered in confusion, her aching heart had burst with affection that had frightened her and caused her to withdraw from his embrace. She was proud of him for his small act of defiance against his father for her sake and saw him in another brilliant light since then. Though she was well aware of the impossibility of anything ever happening between them, she couldn't help but hope for the probability that he might care for her. She would take that if not his love and cherish just their friendship.

"You are going to live to be the man I've seen inside you, Arthur. I can see a Camelot that is fair and just. I can see a king that the people will love and be proud to call their sovereign." Her voice wavered, afraid of the starkness of their reality though she determinedly refused to allow him to leave. "For the love of Camelot, you have to live."

Gwen gently lifted his large, fevered hand, caressing it between hers and then pressed it to her lips. A long night was ahead for them, and under the circumstances, she would not have had it any other way.

"For my sake, Arthur, you have to live.

…………………..

Twilight crept in unannounced, and Gwen, asleep, was seated next to Arthur's bed when his rest became fitful, the prince stirring beneath the sheets and mumbling incoherently. He was covered in perspiration again, his hair drenched, clinging to his forehead and scalp. His chest and assumedly his entire body were sodden. She berated herself for falling asleep and quickly retrieved a fresh sheet and blankets, removed his soaked ones with cool sure hands before covering him with the dry, clean linen.  She would need to have all the sheets changed when morning came.

Arthur began to shiver uncontrollably, his arms and legs clenching with spasm every now and again, his face scrunching as if he had encountered something unpleasant or not expected or painful. Fitful sleep plagued the prince day in and night and the only thing to relieve his stress was a calming potion concocted by Gaius.

Gwen uncorked a bottle of clear liquid left by the bed and tenderly wrapped an arm around his neck to open his passage, lifting his head to gently pour the potion down his throat. It took a while, a little spillage rolling down his chin, but he needed to take it all. When it was done, she extricated herself and returned to nursing him, wiping away the potion that missed his mouth and soothing him with assurances that everything was okay, that he was all right, that all would be fine. Arthur settled from her calming promises almost word for word she could tell, his movements gradually easing, his face relaxing so that it looked like he was just sleeping and not struggling to survive. 

She started on drying him, using a large towel on arms, legs, and chest, then cloth for his face. She swabbed his forehead, their steady breathing filling the void, his light fading with each passing moment. _He will be all right_ , she thought, now trying to assure herself, for Arthur's death was unthinkable.

"Guinevere," the prince said softly. Gwen gasped with hope thinking he'd regained consciousness, that the worst had passed and he'd come back to them. She was sure sleep had already claimed him, yet her heart fluttered from how he spoke her given name. It was always with a passion no matter the circumstance. That had never happened before, when anyone else had used it. Only Arthur could throw her into orbit with just the utterance of a single word.

"I'm here, sire." But then she saw that his eyes had never opened, that he was talking in a drug-induced sleep. And yet, how would he know she was there in the first place? Was he at some level aware of her presence? Or was he just dreaming? Dreaming of her?

"Guinevere…" he whispered again, his voice as gentle as the first time.

"I'm here, Arthur," she replied as she continued with her medical ministrations, cooling his still high temperature with a wet cloth.

"I'm sorry." It was barely a whisper, but she could hear him clearly. "S-Sorry—for how I'd…treated you."

The only time that Arthur had injured her was when he was low in confidence and high on guilt. That time on the battlement he'd been aloof and had made it blatantly clear that he wanted to be left alone, indifferent that he'd wounded her in the process. She didn't know how long she would have stayed cross with him even though there had been signs of regret, stolen glances, and even defense of her father when he'd been arrested Morgana would later tell her. In her heart, she had forgiven him that day her father died, Arthur's caring actions speaking louder than any words could shout.

"No. No, I understand. Your responsibilities must weigh heavily on you. You have nothing to be sorry for, my lord."

"I'm…" His head swayed side to side. His brow creased, his lips twitching in protest of letting the next words pass. "I'm afraid…"

It was almost pitiable, and she was suddenly feeling sorry for him. Arthur was no coward. Whatever could frighten him made her back stiffen as if ready to pounce on whoever was harming him. "What are you afraid of, Arthur?" she prompted him, a deep need to know the culprit's identity rousing her to battle.

"Of dying without telling you—how I really feel about you." A lament of so many souls, of unreconciled differences, never saying what was truly in one's heart, of wasted opportunities lost forever like the dead.

Gwen's breath hitched. "Oh," she sighed, her hand stopping its methodical care as she searched his handsome features for any sign of an awareness of what he was saying. "What?" She dared to believe she'd heard him correctly.

"You…" his Adam's apple bobbed in this throat as he seemed to struggle toward the consciousness that would not yield to him. "You are beautiful to me…Since Ealdor…I can think of no one other than you. I…I need you…more than I can…" With that, he'd drifted off, taking with him anything else he might have said.

Gwen covered her mouth, a tear tracking down her cheek, scared, ecstatic, heartbroken, the jumbled feelings tumbling endlessly through mind and body. A shiver careened down her spine and the next moment she was trembling. Why did he have to tell her now? And what did it matter anyway? Whether it was a side effect of the poison and the potion, or that the prince really cared for her tore her apart. Arthur was dying and could not stay no matter what she'd tried to will him to do, and then uttering such words that sent her soaring into the heavens only for him to leave suddenly without sorting it out would surely, quietly throw her over the edge after he was gone.

He would never know that she had already opened her heart for him and it was breaking all too soon.

…………………..

This was the secret of two men, conjured up days before Gwen sat beside Arthur to nurse him and played out over the course of the prince's dying days. No one would know what Merlin and Gaius had been up to from the moment they thought it was feasible. It was, at least, over one full day of travel to get the only help possible, and it was slim that Arthur could last for two and some, but Merlin had to try.

His chestnut mount sped through the countryside with frenetic haste to the Isle of the Blessed, the sorcerer holding fast to dire hopes of garnering a bargain with the gods, only to find the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen waiting there in greeting. Nimueh, a High Priestess. Actually, she was the **_only_** witch he'd ever encountered because he did not believe what the dragon had accused of Morgana.

Water from the precious, duplicitous Goblet of Life, a few drops of it was all that was needed to cure the dying heir. But to save one life, another would have to be taken, so Merlin offered his own, ready to die for Arthur as it were from the moment he'd believed in his destiny. This was not the first time he'd been faced with that desperate choice, he'd come close to dying before for his friend. Poisoned he was by the very witch he now faced in a death-dealing covenant. Arthur had saved him with a flower back then because of her. Now here he was to return the selfless favor, she at the center of it again, and this time with no chance of rescue from his fateful decision, he was certain she would be the victor.

Merlin did not know, however, that the choice was not his to make, for the gods chose the sacrifice, not the man. Therefore, they cursed his mother to prove their point to Nimueh's twisted delight, inflicting Hunith to a slow and painful death as the prince was pulled back from the brink. A turn of fate sent Gaius into their life and death battle, sacrificing his own to save Merlin, who in turn was determined to save his mother's in a fight to the death with same said priestess. Through all their bargaining and noble sacrifices, it was Nimueh, however, who paid the price and appeased the gods of old. In their battle of water and fire, Merlin called upon his elemental powers to summon thunderbolts to strike her down, her haughty words of being Arthur's salvation never truer in the end.

…………………..

The beast's iron claws dug deeper into his legs, his back, stripping flesh and scraping bone, fangs finding purchase in a shoulder to deposit its hot, thick poison into his body. Arthur screamed in agony, every nerve on fire, blinding white that seared his soul. Too much. Too much. If he would just let go, the pain would stop.

He was dying, felt himself spiraling deeper into the chasm like he'd never felt before, trapped in combat with a creature of nightmares and struggling against the pull of death's beacon with no weapon but bare hands and sheer determination. It was all he had left to do. Stay alive. Fight.

Oh, but he was tired now. Arthur was so very tired. All his life he had to fight. Be strong, they said. Don't let them see your fear. Don't give in to the pain. No more. Too much. If he could just rest now, his pain would stop forever.

Don't. Don't let go. Fight. Something to live for. Someone to live for. For the first time. But the pain. Too much.

And then it came just as the beast's massive limbs wrapped tighter around him, crushing bone and expelling the last of his precious air when something wet soothed his parched throat and cooled his burning flesh. The sweetest voice he'd ever heard spoke of hope and eased his rising fear. On some level, he'd sensed her, smelled her, felt her cooling, gentle touch on his body during his futile struggle against the darkness. Her words demanding that he live, her plea for him to fight, to not leave her a melody that kept him afloat, anchored, and reeled him into her life-saving embrace, a sweet but forlorn delay of his inevitable departure, a comforting reprieve before his fruitless battle to survive would begin once more. 

And it had resumed, Arthur struggled against his more powerful adversary over and over again, its terrible roar so loud his whole being vibrated, red liquid spewing from his ears, nose, and eyes, its poisonous work almost done, the pain unbearable.

Arthur let go.  

But then the beast loosed its deathly grip having no real cause to so and slipped into the abyss without him. The blackness around him turned to gray, and then to calming white as he climbed over to the lip of the chasm and back onto the land of the living, to a welcoming beginning with a pretty young maiden. Guinevere.

Arthur remembered everything Gwen had said and now that he was wholly back, his heart clenched in his chest so much it hurt, longing for that embraced he'd dreamt of. In his heart, he needed her, desired her and admitted it for the first time was as painful as not. What was he to do with a forbidden fire that had already begun to burn?

…………………..

Gwen was exhausted, only gaining a few hours of sleep before her duties beckoned and strolled into the prince's chamber through the servant's entrance with a load of clean linen, lost in thought and fighting a yawn just as Uther was leaving his son's bedside. With a hesitant pause, she visibly recoiled from the retreating king as he left the room through the main chamber doors and not even registering her presence.

It wasn't that long ago that her father was killed by order of him and it was still fresh in her heart and mind, an open wound that she feared would never heal. She loathed the king, did not like him one bit, but he was still her sovereign and she loved his son. Her status bade her no choice but to follow proper protocols of a servant, Gwen respecting his position if not the man. She placed the linen on the side high table, then twirled to look at Arthur just as he turned his weary face to her. She smiled warmly at him, her elation at his obvious, welcomed improvement reflected in her eyes.

"I knew it," she smiled happily, relieved. "I said you'd be alright." Unable to keep her calm in check while under his glazy-eyed, yet searching scrutiny and especially being privy to a confession he wouldn't otherwise have shared with anyone, Gwen quickly turned back to the table to retrieve the soiled linen. She did wonder if he remembered that confession of his, lovely now that he was alive, yet hoping that he might forget in equal measure.

Arthur gazed at her inquisitively for a long moment and lifted a lazy hand in her direction, yet too weak to hold it up for long. "I can remember you talking to me."

 _Oh, no._ Gwen chewed her lip. He did remember, but not the one she'd hoped, not his own heartfelt confession of needing her, but the one where she'd demanded he fight to live for the kingdom, for her. He seemed puzzled, and amused, at what had transpired between them and her face flushed in heated embarrassment. "You can?" She wouldn't dare let him see, so instead, fidgeted with the sheets in front of her.

Arthur lifted his hand, heavy as it was even for that simple action and outstretched it toward her again. "You stroked my forehead." And other places, she recalled.

That was salacious and Gwen blushed even deeper, miserably failing to dispel the thought. "I was tending to your fever," she replied to assure him just as much as to convince herself. That was all it was.

"You never lost faith," he said as if pleased. He was still reaching for her, but the energy to keep his hand lifted was just not there. It slowly fell to his chest.

Arthur hadn't stirred one bit during the time she had demanded he get better, and she had been certain that he couldn't have heard her. All the same, it seemed they'd had a complete conversation a little time later and that one he didn't remember at all. It was bittersweet as it happened, a dying man's last words that burrowed deep into her heart, but now it could bear fruit.

"I was just talking."

"Tell me again what you said."

Gwen pressed her lips and closed her eyes, his persistence not one of his virtues right now. Why won't he just let it go? "I don't remember," she lied, tumbling the linen to try to look busy.

"Yes, you do," he teased, a grin playing on his lips and a spark in his heavy-lidded eyes.

"No, I don't," she insisted. _Why won't you remember our other talk, hmmm? Let's see how you would hold up then, my lord._

"Come on," he said, wracking his brain for recollection, struggling to pull the memories together. "Something…about…'the man I am inside'."

She twirled back to him now, denial firmly on her lips, but not in her eyes. "No. I never said that." Gwen was feverishly embarrassed that he remembered her words, but still managed to smile humbly in the face of a lie.

" _Guinevere,_ " he drawled with mild admonishment though his voice was tender and playful.

 _Why must he speak my name like so? I wish he would not do that._ It was a silent a plea that she did not mean _._ It made her knees feel like jelly and her thoughts scatter to the wind, all intelligence floating away. Her heart pounded in her ears and she wondered if he could hear it, too. Gwen suddenly turned away to retrieve the soiled linen, scooping them up as quickly as she could and oh so ready to flee from his questions and lovely blue eyes. He'd caught her off guard and she not prepared to defend her own words. Not yet at least.

"I have to get these washed, sire," she finally managed to say into the heavy loaded silence and then hastily retreated from his presence with a blush so brilliant she probably lit up the room, a fond, light chuckle from him following her out just before she left.

Arthur would never remember the confession of his deep-seeded need for her. Gwen, however, would never forget and would hold his words close to heart for the rest of her life.


	5. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur considers his relationship with Gwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This update is completely different from the original post, focusing more on Arthur and Gwen's budding feelings. I felt that they needed a little more privacy to have the following conversation than having it during the midst of chaos the night before. And I wanted this to be mostly from Arthur's POV (it was due) so apologies for taking the bit out about Merlin. I hope you enjoy this revision with a little more Arwen. Thanks, Kimmiky. Your feedback is always appreciated. Updated 02/17/17.  
> I don't own Merlin. If I did, it would have had a lot more romance between Arthur and Gwen.

It seemed their kingdom was cursed of late, constantly under siege by sorcerers, witches, or some other damned magical beast bent on destroying them.

A devastating plague ran rapid through the beleaguered city earlier that year claiming near eighty souls, and then a beast with the head of an eagle and body of lion preferring their human flesh over livestock terrorized the countryside before feasting on Camelot's citizens. That frightful time was followed by drought and mysteriously ruined crops that led to famine, not to lessen a string of other strange and deadly incidents spread throughout the seasons including Arthur's near encounter with death caused by the poisonous bite of a creature of magic. Something magnificent and quite redoubtable had happened that time to him when Gwen nursed him one night, a secret shared from the heart and unable to be forgotten and no chance of being anything more than that: a bittersweet memory that refused to go away.

Why it mattered was considerably baffling, his longing to spend more time with a servant while recognizing the impossibility of it. Yet, it was the woman that intrigued him, her dizzying effect on him, the fire beneath a surface of poise and decorum a pleasing combination to him.

After Arthur's recovery, some days would pass before he'd see her, his responsibilities as a prince and hers as a servant getting in the way of them having any form of meaningful interaction if that was meant to be at all. When protocol brought them together on occasion, duty would force them apart. And Arthur was thirsty for more of her, Gwen's absence becoming a tangible thing even as there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, Chaos would not give them a chance either, interrupting the lull of peace they'd had for just over a month with another harrowing attack on Camelot and this time by stone gargoyles that once stood guard over the citadel now magically come alive and trying to raze her to the ground.

Swooping from the towers and descending upon the terrified and helpless residents, Cedric watched his creations wreak havoc with vengeful pleasure. Possessed by the soul of a long-dead sorcerer, the petty thief who'd ingratiated himself into Arthur's good graces by usurping Merlin's position gained more than he had bargained. His body was found dead amongst the remains of the gargoyles that had fallen from the sky when they'd returned to stone. Merlin's heroics were unbeknownst and Cedric's death would remain a mystery.

They'd lost many citizens in the fray, the castle seriously damaged, and Arthur wounded again and confined to the ruins of his own chambers. To his great dissatisfaction, the prince was not permitted to assist in the repair of his great city, suffering from a terrible gouge just below the left breast, a concussion and sore ribs sustained when he was knocked unconscious. No doubt, his pride was bruised as well.

The reports in front of him blurred once again, whether from the effects of the blow to the head or the state of his city simply too unbearable to continue to read. Arthur's mind wandered to the events last night, of Gwen and how she'd managed to pull him out of the path of a diving gargoyle just in time, the wind knocked out of him made worse by blood loss from a fresh wound. And then to when she'd moments later shoved him to the ground again, falling atop him and expelling out the last of his breath on the creature's second attempt to bury its talons into him from behind. He was surprised that she had the strength to take him down, slight of build though she was _and_ with him clad in armor. With enough speed and force applied to his upper section, along with his growing fatigue and the wound sustained from the gargoyle that had laid him out in the first place, he reckoned it didn't really take much effort to overcome him. She was amazing still the same. Beauty, valor, strength, and humility, all that a man could hope. So fragile in her appearance, reserved yet graceful, Gwen's core was forged in iron and passion, a combination so exhilarating it had caught him by storm and wouldn't let go. And for what he was thinking, she was untouchable, out of reach. Arthur could not properly court a servant the way a man should and his heart desired.

Breathe.

First in Ealdor and every day since, the coy maiden consumed his thoughts far too often and ever more since the day he comforted her in his arms. He would never forget her raw despair and vulnerability, her unrestrained trembling for which he was partly to blame. Perhaps she had forgiven him, but he was too cowardly to find out.

He'd never forget what she'd said to him when he was dying, hanging onto her call to battle, her words of endearment just before falling prey to nightmare. She'd pleaded for him to live not just for the kingdom, but also for her. He was her strength she'd confessed when she thought he was asleep, and he'd held fast to that, she being a tether that kept him from succumbing to the dark. Perchance, she had some feelings for him being that came after Tom's death.

Gwen had been right in front of him for many years, hidden in Morgana's shadow and the protocols of social status. Why hadn't he noticed such a bright star before? Could be that he just wasn't looking. That duty and responsibility blinded him after a conscious decision made a few years ago.

Being a healthy male with healthy desires, Uther had warned him that women of all manner would vie for his affection and he could love them if he chose, though he was forbidden to sire outside of a royal marriage. The king had cautioned with a devilish grin that someone would steal his heart one day and then he'd be doomed forever. Heaven and hell, it would be when it happened, and whichever way the ax fell, the rest would be of her making. In spite of all that, Uther would have him marry for the good of the kingdom. Love would have nothing to do with it.

Arthur enjoyed the pleasures of woman as early as fifteen years old, leaving behind a trail of fleeting romance and pretentious maidens whose only interests were their own elevation, never mind their virtue. He'd broken a few hearts along the way, too, and he felt bad about that as he matured, each encounter becoming less satisfying and leaving him strangely wanting. There was no nobility in the disregard of such intimacy between a man and a woman he would come to believe. The act should be cherished as should the woman, and deciding at only nineteen that love was of highest regard to him, he abstained for not just their dignity, but for his. His father would not be pleased with that notion the next time a marriage treaty was placed on the table.

And here he was with warm feeling for Gwen, his body reacting in ways it had not before, rousing sensations and unlocking emotions he thought he'd never feel for a woman. Others indulged him when she did not. She saw the man beneath the status and arrogance, the man he'd allowed only few to see. She challenged him, stood up to him and that was just what he needed. He hadn't seen the servant for many months, but a woman so brave and beautiful. Was she the one whom father had spoken? The one who snared his heart? Could the gods be so cruel as to bring them together so that social standards could keep them apart? Why would Fate do that to them?

Breathe.

A knock at the door brought Arthur out of his thoughts, the parchment in front of him forgotten long ago. Good Lord. A visitor. Anyone was welcomed even if it was a page with more dismal reports. "Enter."

Gwen swept in to the swish of her skirts and left the door ajar, a basket full of medicinal supplies hooked in her elbow. She curtsied perfectly and then approached, a strained professional air about her, though her eyes seemed to sparkle at seeing him. "Merlin is still needed in the hospital so Gaius asked that I look in on you. It's time to change your bandages, sire. How are you feeling?"

It was the brightest moment as yet in his day seeing her, a ray of pure sunshine, and Arthur couldn't help but smile. "Well enough," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Though I'd rather be doing something useful than being stuck in here. I'm going insane being so idle. It's—unnatural for me."

Gwen produced a genuine giggle. Arthur was a man of action, so of course he would feel that way. "It's for your own good, sire," she said with mild reproach, placing the basket on the opposite end of the table. "The jousting tourney is in a month and if you want to have time to prepare for it, you must heal properly first. Now please, sit here and remove your shirt. This won't take long."

"Yes, my lady." His effortless reference to her as noble startled them both, freezing them in a moment of uncertainty, of deep eye contact, a range of conflicting emotions flicking across their faces. Gwen was becoming more than just a servant to him and this slip was just another indication its veracity.

Arthur cleared his throat, the mask of indifference not coming so easily and stood slowly, unbuckling his belt as he made his way to the other end of the table. A slight blush dusted his cheeks when he tried to remove his shirt and found that he could hardly lift his left arm. In an instant Gwen was there, gathering the shirt from the bottom and then tip-toeing as he bent forward to pull it over his head. The shirt slipped easily from muscular arms, Gwen doing her best not to look him in the eyes and Arthur was simply lightheaded from their sensual motions and touching and being so close to her. Or maybe it was from the concussion but all he could think of were that the freckles on her nose were adorable and her lips were perfect for kissing.

Breathe, Arthur.

Gwen placed the shirt on the back of the chair and he eased himself onto the table's edge. Under normal circumstances, it was most inappropriate to be unclothed in the presence of a woman, even servants, but for medical care, it was necessary at times. Besides, she'd probably seen him in even less being that she'd cared for him just last month, and now that thought didn't ease his embarrassment either. Exposing his body to the opposite sex, and someone he may have feelings for, well, he was downright nervous.

It didn't help that she was practically hugging him to unwrap the binding that secured the bandage, loose locks brushing across the fine hairs on his chest and sending chills through his body. If Gwen was as flustered as he was, Arthur could not tell in the moment, the consummate nurse keeping her attention focused on undoing the wrappings, her fingers skimming his skin every now and again that made his whole body tingle. She was a much better nurse than Merlin ever was. His heady state was abruptly ended when a gentle tug to remove the bandage covering the injury would not give, the sullied cloth stuck with dried blood and threatening to take more flesh with it if she pulled any harder.

"Ow," he said more on reflex and with his best pout forward, the pain not that bad.

"Sorry, my lord," she apologized, going straight to the pitcher of water near his stack of parchment and not noticing his pretended-injured look. "I'll have to saturate the bandage the separate it from your wound. This should have been changed hours ago."

Arthur clicked his teeth as Gwen returned and lifted a cloth from the basket, clearly impervious to her patient's bemoaning and maybe not feeling the attraction he thought was there, the stain on his armor for his part in Tom's death might forever lie between them. Or perhaps she was just doing her job and so incredibly focused that little hurts like this were ignored for good reason, nothing compared to the real distress she saw in the hospital. Arthur would know all about that, he'd seen the horrors of war, too.

"Besides saving my life last night when we were under attack," he grimaced as she dampened the soiled bandage with water, catching the spillage with the cloth, "what were you doing out there, Guinevere?" She'd shown great courage in the face of danger on more than one occasion and Arthur admired that, her bravery equal to any of his knights. That she could defend herself against man and beast was appealing to him, another quality strongly in her favor.

The bandage was loosed and both observed the token from the stone talon that penetrated his chain mail, a deep tissue injury just below his left breast and luckily, no ribs were broken or blood vessels ruptured, though the gouge was now inflamed. 

"We needed bandages," she stated matter-of-factly, discarding the old dressing and rummaging through the basket, vials clinking as she picked through them before settling on one and uncorking it. "The closest place with any sort of useable linen was in the south wing. Someone had to get them." Her touch was cool, electrifying as she cleaned the gash as gingerly as she could, and then applied a foul-smelling salve that made both their faces scrunch with disgust. Nonetheless, it would promote fast healing and light scarring while the honey she unwrapped would soothe, prevent infection, and obscure the scent of the less than pleasing salve.

"I'm grateful for your help and the compassion you have for my citizens," he said softly. "But you were well aware of the dangers we faced. You could have been killed." He could smell her hair as she leaned in close to him to begin wrapping him again and he took in the faintest hint of lavender wafting to his nostrils, enough to rouse his senses once more. Breathe.

"So could you, my lord," she retorted, sneaking a peek at him to gauge his reaction and holding her breath in the process. Arthur did not take comfort in her bold words nor the obvious risks she was willing to take for him and certain his expression told her so. Truly, she could see that he cared for her.

"I'm…not sure what I'd do if anything happened to you, Gwen." This he whispered near her ear, delivering the sweetest confirmation of his concern that sent warm sensations through his body, made his heart skip a beat as her hands slowed their methodical care of wrapping his wound. She dared to look at him full on and when their eyes met, the depths of their secrets passed between them. They'd been dancing around their feelings for months now and the first time they had a decent moment to advance was once again in the wake of death. They were more terrified of these revelations than they were of the monsters last night.

"Do you think I'd feel any different?" she admitted, fumbling with the bandage roll and almost dropping it. "You're precious to the kingdom, our greatest hope for a brighter future. No one can bear to see you harmed."

So she did care, the attraction in her eyes filling him up and allowing him to forget his pain. There were strict boundaries that could not be ignored, and yet he yearned to step across them. Damn the consequences. He had changed since his growing relations with Gwen, and Merlin to some extent. They unknowingly impressed their principles upon him with such regularity and force that he could no longer avoid the onslaught of their fresh ideas, and he was sure that he didn't really want it to anyway. They both compelled him to be a better man, to make wiser decisions, to see beyond the one-sided teachings and doctrines of his royal education and knowledge, to teach him that a noble heritage did not necessarily result in a noble person. No wonder he felt lost at times when they were not around.

"I'm sorry for how I treated you that day on the battlement."

She stopped what she was doing and turned her soft brown eyes to him again. So much passion was swimming in them, confusion and compassion, too. He could get lost in there, and yet be found. She had so much to offer and he wanted to seize it. Breathe.

"I was in a bad place," he said gently, "and I didn't want you in there with me. I apologize for my behavior. Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Gwen said bashfully, the wrap secured and she putting her things away. "It is long forgotten. I understand the burden you must carry protecting the kingdom. It seems every month there's some crisis befalling us, turning our lives inside out. If it weren't for you, where would our kingdom be? And though I have every confidence in your abilities, sire, you must use caution and allow those who care about you to help. You're not alone, my lord. Just remember that."

Always with formality. He was rather enjoying the rare intimacy between them and wished she didn't use his honorifics when it was just the two of them. He wanted to be "Arthur" to her, wanted to hear his name on her lips. "I'll do my best." He granted her smile, grateful for her belief in him, her faith in him easing some of his doubts and allowing his mind to focus truly on what was important.

Guinevere. She provided perfect balance for him, filling a void that had long been empty.

Arthur was getting hungry.

Breathe.


	6. A Time for Humility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Arthur loves Gwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Merlin. If I did, Arthur would have been king a lot sooner. Revised April 25, 2017.

You…Always Surprise Me

 

Chapter 6 A Time for Humility

Arthur had had enough. His knights had no idea how humiliating it was to learn they'd thrown their matches against him to keep their prince and future king from harm. Arthur believed he'd earned his fighting reputation by studying, sweating, pushing himself harder than the next man. Being noble already offered many advantages for his class. Being royal guaranteed wild indulgence and as crowned prince and heir to the throne of Camelot, there was no way to avoid accommodating behaviors from his subjects.

On the battlefield, he could not afford, nor did he want, any such privileges. Lives depended on him; he had to be sure of his abilities. If he could not hone his skills on the training fields, he couldn't be sure of his worth. As long as his men continued to give him an edge, he'd never know if he was as great a warrior as many believed. He'd be living with a lie.

Disheartened that people respected his title more than they did him, Arthur concocted a wild and daring scheme with Merlin and Gwen to lay to rest his doubt. Dressed as a commoner in a ragged blue cloak, he set out on a personal mission to fight for his honor. The jousting tourney three days hence would provide the perfect setting to either play the fool or prove his valor once and for all.

Turning a simple farmer into a believable noble was not a simple thing. Arthur coached the humble man for hours on the mannerisms of knights, jousting and fighting techniques, and the expectations of court. Merlin and Gwen scoured the towns for the things that would make him at least look like a noble. The coin Arthur had to spend was jaw dropping, but satisfyingly worth it by the time they'd finished with him. All Sir William of Deira had to do was to face the crowd and charm the court. The rest was up to Arthur. He'd take the field and face the opponents. As an unknown, William's opponents would see him as fair game once the flags dropped and egos were at stake. With a full-face helmet concealing his identity, they'd give their best and so would he. Arthur had to win this tournament. If he could not prove to them he was capable of winning his battles on his own merit, then he was neither the man, the warrior, nor the leader he believed himself to be.

Staying with Gwen was another matter entirely; much more terrifying than worrying if William could maintain his cover. Alone with her, the world outside seemed far away and he glimpsed into a quiet life without the responsibility of a kingdom on his shoulders. Two days he'd danced around her in the small space, taking extremes not to brush against her firm body. He'd said some things over the past few months, shared deep and meaningful glances with her, and even embraced her in her time of need. If he only had the guts to tell her how he felt about her, now would be that time. But to what end? Thousands of years of tradition could not be undone overnight, nor could his clueless airs of self-importance. Gwen had no problem reminding him of either.

Two arguments they'd had today that mostly revolved around his behavior. She called him a hypocrite, a spoiled child who thought only of himself, a noble with the arrogance to pretend to be less than what he was. He was born to privilege, clung to indulgence, and taking advantage of her hospitality ingrained his psyche and expected of him. Part of him still saw her as a servant instead of an equal in his caper and that was a blow to his heart and his pride. Trying to deceive her in an effort to make amends only proved that he **_was_** a fool after all.

His first attempt of showing his gratitude should not have started with a lie. He couldn't admit to Merlin that she'd seen through his so-called noble aim, that more was at stake than his pride. Arthur really did want to impress her, but he'd gone about it the wrong way. He could show the world how great a warrior he was, but to express his deeper feelings would mean he'd have to open his heart and there he had no real experience. As she spun away from him with so much disdain, he reached out to stop her and gently turned her back to him.

"Guinevere," he said softly, his heart aching for disappointing her once again. "I know I have much to learn. There are some things I'm terrible at-cooking being one of them." The lump of humility stuck in his throat and his mind dug for sentiments buried within him. "But also, knowing what to say to someone I care about." It was more than simply caring for her. The attraction was undeniable, so forbidden to burn that it hurt when he touched her.

He would have kissed her if Merlin hadn't barged in, alarmed and spooked. Instead, Arthur jerked his arm away as if already guilty of doing it; startled, to say the least, as Merlin gave them news of an assassin in Camelot with sights on his noble head. The three of them spent a little time together in somber conversation clearing the dinner remains before Gwen returned to her duties at the castle and Arthur and Merlin spent the rest of the evening rearranging Arthur's new sleeping area so that Gwen could have the bed tonight.

He tried to remain awake after Merlin left, wait for her return, talk with her longer. He'd ended up prowling the small space like a caged animal worrying about what he'd implied to her, the assassin lurking somewhere in the shadows, tomorrow's final match, William, and a bunch of other random things that muddled his thoughts. He would have expelled his burst of energy on the training ground, or in the courtyard if he hadn't been on his so-called-mission. At least there, he could take out his frustrations on a practice dummy or Merlin. Arthur sighed and eyed the cramped space that would be his bed tonight and clicked his tongue. He might as well try to rest since he was unable to do anything else.

He didn't hear Gwen when she returned, and when he woke the next morning, she was already up and quietly moving about in the candle glow. She was radiant, the sheer curtains he could see through accentuating her already angelic qualities. Her hair was pinned again today, though a few strands haloed her lovely face and fell down her slender neck. He appreciated the different gowns she wore of late, vibrant designs and color; tighter fitting, displaying curves and supple skin that led the eye to full, round breasts. Arthur's moan was throaty, and she may have heard before he swallowed it with shame and humiliation. His yearning for her had tripled since this venture began and his whole body was on fire. Arthur had no choice but to remain there else she'd see his desire, too.

"Good morning," Gwen called out from over her shoulder, continuing with whatever she was doing.

"Good morning," he replied, his normally deep voice huskier and somewhat rushed. Perhaps she'd think he was dragging himself out of sleep, which he was, his senses were still a bit groggy. Arthur yawned to perpetuate the pretense and stretched in his limited confines. One more yawn and Arthur forced himself to sit up. Pulling himself to his feet and then tangling them in the covers, he stumbled past the curtains, wide-eyed and flushed in his struggle to gain his balance. Flicking hair from his eyes and pressing down his crumbled clothes with sweaty palms, he relaxed when he realized that Gwen had not noticed his clumsy entrance. She set a breakfast bowl next to a pot of hearty porridge and a loaf of warm bread on the table devoid of a setting for two.

"Where's yours," he asked, genuinely concerned, raking his hair a few times, and then rolling his aching shoulders, a hand going to the right one to work out the kinks. He moaned again from the painful pleasure of it and twisted his waist.

"That **_is_** mine," Gwen said, pouring warmed water into a larger bowl at the end of the table and placing a well-worn cloth next to it.

"Oh." Arthur's brows lifted into golden strands as he dropped his arm. Gwen set the kettle down, then crossed the short distance to the door as she threw him a slightly dismissive glance.

"I'll give you a few moments," she said, leaving him alone as she walked outside.

Arthur sighed but went straight to business, as some things had become routine living here. To say the least, some things were just natural. Putting the chamber pot out the back door was one chore that repulsed him, but Gwen would be left to do it if he didn't. He scrambled over his mattress and hurried to the basin. She would return in a few more minutes and he wanted to be dressed and ready.

Arthur picked up the cloth Gwen had left for him and stirred the water, an infusion of lemon and herbs wafting to his nostrils and easing some of the tension. She'd prepared his meals the entire time except for last night. It was a disaster in the end, but surely that was nothing compared to someone trying to kill him. He deserved a little latitude … Didn't he? He squeezed most of the water out of the towel and then washed his teeth and tongue. He submerged the cloth again, wringing it and then scrubbed his face, neck, and as much of his shoulder blades and chest as his reach and clothes would allow.

He'd just stamped his boots on as Gwen slipped in, her skirts swishing in the quiet as she twirled to close the door. Sitting at her place at the table, she snapped the serviette open and placed it gingerly across her lap. She exhaled as if exhausted, and then waited. Arthur adjusted his tunic and belt, unsure of what he should do next as moments ticked by. Gwen cocked her head and then shaking it, diverted her eyes as she bite into her lower lip to hide her amusement. She looked back at him, her face lacking any kind of empathy.

"You **_have_** figured out where the dishes are by now, haven't you?"

Arthur creased his brow, his lips puckering so predictably that Gwen's lips twitched. Of course, he knew where the dishes were. He'd fumbled around the kitchen last night, searching the hutches for the basics while waiting for Merlin to return. He'd found everything stored in a cupboard: a few cups, bowls, plates, and spoons, perfectly stacked. Arthur swaggered toward the cupboard. The hinges creaked as he opened the door and extracted a bowl and spoon. He clicked his tongue in triumph and grinned as he opened the hutch and took out a candle and stick. Sitting opposite of her, he used the fire from the one candle on the table and lit the one he'd brought over.

Gwen smiled warmly as he gazed upon her, the candle glow lighting her eyes. It was an odd sensation being with her there, just the two of them, no fear of anyone seeing them. Was this how it was with husbands and wives; how they shared all things and looked upon each other with love? This was as close to normal as he was going to get and much more appealing than the normalcy he sought amongst his men. Everything about her was invigorating, no airs were allowed, and he could be himself with her. She was perfect. Gwen lifted the ladle, but Arthur gently relieved her of it.

"I'll be serving you this time," he said, spooning a scoop into his bowl and then handing it to her, their fingers brushing in the exchange. His cheeks heated as much as hers did, their hands touching again when she passed her bowl to him. This time electricity passed through him. "Thank you."

They ate in silence, comfortable in the glow of their surroundings and the secrets in their hearts. What more could he say to her anyway? He couldn't tell her how beautiful she was. Or how empty his life had been until Ealdor. Or of how much his chest hurt just thinking about her and knowing there were boundaries he dared not cross. Tradition demanded he treat her as a subject, use her as he pleased, invest no emotions, and never forget his duty. Nobles had their reasons to keep the classes separated, fierce in the fight to keep their lines pure, never to be tainted with commoner blood. By the time they finished, Arthur wasn't so comfortable anymore. Gwen insisted on clearing the table herself and he silently retrieved his cloak and satchel. He adjusted his belt, his cloak as Gwen came before him.

"One more match," he said with a half-smile, "and the tournament will be over." They were standing close and Gwen chuckled softly, a bit sadly, though. Perhaps she was ready for it to end, for him to leave and get out of her space. He wouldn't blame her. He'd been a complete boar almost the entire time.

"You can go back to being Prince Arthur." She didn't want him to be Prince Arthur by the look in her eyes and part of him did not want to either. But he had responsibilities that a man like him could not ignore.

Arthur bobbed his head, a reluctant smile on his face. He stared at her too long, unable to take his eyes off her sad countenance while she fidgeted with a kerchief. She shook herself to break his gaze and stepped closer with the offering.

"Um, I thought you might wear it--for luck." She held it out between them, her fingertips almost touching his center.

Arthur's face softened and he smiled a little broader. He'd received many tokens before, had worn them all when he was younger. Fine linens and silks with bordered lace or elaborate embroidery, perfumed, pressed, and perfect. This one had no frills, no eye-catching designs, or even color. It probably only carried her scent as well, and Arthur's mouth watered thinking about the pure joy he'd get just having it close to his heart. It was the sweetest favor he'd ever received, one that he would cherish forever.

"Thank you," he said, taking hold of the cloth that she held onto. Their knuckles lightly brushed before he claimed the kerchief with his other hand and lifted it out of hers. He looked at her as never before to anyone else, the affection for her once again filling an emptiness he'd purposefully sealed so long ago.

Gwen was jittery and he understood why. Their short time together had been intimate, revealing, and frankly, it was one of the happiest he'd ever had, mistakes and all. Her crash course on humility opened his eyes to see just how shallow his quest for equality was. He appreciated that and he wanted to be the good king that Gwen so desired. He didn't want to be valiant just on the battlefield, but also honorable in his rule. It could be his legacy, something different from his predecessors, including his father. Her lessons were what he'd been missing, what he needed in his life. A strong woman to stand up to him and tell him when he was wrong. To love him despite his flaws. Warmth radiated through him, the deep desire to be closer to her making him light-headed.

Arthur's smile widened as Gwen flashed a nervous one. His instincts urged him to take away her anxiety and he leaned in. She was special and so her first kiss had to be. This was not a time for base desires to take over, but a chance to prove how much care, respect, and affection he had for her. He pressed his lips to hers, the softness of her mouth, the sweetness of her taste sent sensual ripples of pleasure through him. The sun streaming through the window heated his skin as much as she warmed his soul. His heart beat furiously, but he kept the pressure steady in a lingering kiss. It was the only contact between their bodies, and as he pulled away, his lids heavy, his mouth tingling, Gwen was drifting back into her own space as if some other force was pulling her from his lips.

Rules could not regulate his heart and for a brief insane moment, he dared to think of her as more than a servant. His mind took him to places a prince was forbidden to tread, though he'd rest in that dream for months now. Arthur was bred to marry nobility, expected to continue the line with a family of proper breeding. His heart now shouted something else and now **_he_** was jittery, his eyes darting away from her glossy ones. He'd crossed the boundary and had dragged her along with him.

This could only lead to sorrow for both of them, but they'd started something that couldn't be ignored or pursued at this moment. Arthur looked down, his hand already gripping the straps of his satchel, hoping Gwen didn't see the nervous shutter he tried to ward off.

"I must go." _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say, but instead adjusted the strap over his shoulder and turned to leave, pulling the blue cloak over his head and retreating from her home. He was not only a fool, but also a coward. He was in love with this woman and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a serious matter and his father would be furious, would not allow such a union. She may not even be safe if the king found out. Arthur valued her friendship, her guidance, and as long as she was willing to give it, it would have to be enough.

…..

Many years passed. Many trials were set before them. Their hearts would break and soar. Tragedy will strike and tear them apart. It would not be until her return from exile that she'd discover he'd carried her maiden's favor tucked in a pocket and close to his heart from the day she'd given it to him.*

…..

*The Sorrows of Pendragons, by Doberler, Chapter 11.


End file.
